Chapter 7
Prev Chapter PART SEVEN Half-beard lowered the binoculars from his face, cursing under his breath as his eyepatch flicked back into his face from the extraneous eyepiece it had been sucked into. “Need to invest in a telescope one of these days,” he muttered. “Well?” the red-caped, resurrected Serling – only it wasn’t Serling, not really – shouted from his vantage point atop a ruined city wall, where he leaned against his enormous sword. “What of our foe’s flight? Is he within your mechanism’s range, or shall we forfeit our pursuit?” The pirate shook his head. “No sign of Frozone, but, well… even from where you’re standing, you can see all the other crazy shit that’s happening out there.” The warrior shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted into the distant horizon. Sure enough, the stretching deserts that had been so tranquil, smooth, and dead had become blotched with dark woods and faintly shimmering streams. Stranger still, great structures of classical design seemed to be half-sunken in the sands, still rising from the depths. But none of it was strange to the Blade. He hopped down to join Half-beard along the outskirts of the ghost town, itself now being crawled over by powerful vines. “It’s natural that they should escape so effortlessly,” he spoke, slightly muffled by the violent scarf tied around his face. “They are intimately familiar with this terrain; moreso, in fact, with each hour’s passage. In that, at least, they are the same as me.” “Uh, hey, thanks for savin’ my ass from that thing, you know, the monster with the ice magic an’ such,” said the mercenary. Blade caught the implicit question. “What we fought is named a Sentinel. It is a minion of the forces your party awoke in the chasms of Hiskor, created by the magics of that darkest god to patrol his kingdom as he shakes off his splintering shackles.” Half-beard raised an eyebrow and stared hard at the face that had once been his friend’s. “I should start from the beginning,” Blade sighed. “This land has been home to a powerful presence known only as the Animator since the early days of mankind… the days in which this sword that houses me was forged. In those days this land of Tuzosia was a paradise, simply because it was willed so by the immense divine power dwelling there. People flocked to his side, worshipping him in the temple he constructed for this purpose. The being’s true nature evaded all.” “Once enough became ensnared by the web of his religion the Animator’s generosity gave way to harsh demands and vicious punishments. He declared that the needs of his followers concerned him not, demanding heavy tributes of wealth and flesh and soul. At last the people grew weary of toiling before their ethereal master and fled from his capital city at Hiskor.” “Abandoned by all but his most mindless and faithful acolytes, the proud god became consumed by bitterness and hatred. Burning with contempt for all life, the Animator began his eternal campaign to sponge it from his kingdom, the borders of which he immediately sought to expand. He mutilated his remaining servants, transforming them into monsters of elemental magics which he ushered out into the lands surrounding his deserted kingdom.” “Those’d be the guys we were just fighting, then,” Half-beard added, shivering as he remembered the icy foe they had sent running earlier. “I still ain’t sure of how his is supposed to work, though. Why did taking the Animadversionite set all this back into motion?” “Yes, I’m getting to that… you’ll have to excuse me, I’m a bit long-winded in my narrations,” Blade admitted. “An army existed with power enough to repel the god’s advances. Joining forces at the newly founded Temple of Pikhal not far beyond the Animator’s borders, they managed to fell the Sentinels and reach Hiskor, where they managed to defeat their old oppressor.” “But the Animator didn’t die. As we would later learn, he is only vulnerable to his own magic, and all the best the sorcerers of Pikhal could do was cast his still living form into the realm of the dead. Undeterred, he gathered forces from among the damned to force a manifestation of his strength beyond the barrier between worlds – the crystal power known as Animadversionite. When that power was claimed by a living man he would be able to tear open the gate of the pit and work his way up into the world of the living once more.” “So you’re sayin’ that’s what we did?” Half-beard asked with a grimace. “It was our tiny band of mortal explorers what awakened this god o’ yours at last after these many years?” The red-caped ancient shrugged. “Well, it’s not the first time this has happened. Every couple of centuries some unknowing quester stumbles upon the ruins of Hiskor and takes a piece of the Animadversionite, starting a globe-spanning empire that needs to be put down by the combined forces of light. Then the portal to the land of the dead must be sealed once more, with the Animator safely behind it.” The pirate scratched his head. “Now hold on a second, Edge was the one who stole the crystal… are you saying that he’s going to try and take over the world?’ “I don’t know,” Blade replied. “If the past wars would hold as a reference, he would have already started his conquest months ago. Something is different this time… perhaps it’s due to the involvement of interlopers in your discovery, or a new strategy being employed by the Animator, or maybe it’s simply that the Animator recognizes that there is no substantial army of light left to challenge him… but for whatever reason, the events are not transpiring in their usual fashion. Our old solutions are useless here.” The pirate shook his head, struggling to make sense of the mythological jargon. “Now wait just a second, you asked me to help you stop apocalypse, right? Why is it sounding more and more like you have no idea of how to do that? Damnit! Why the hell are you even telling me all of this?!” The other warrior furrowed his brow and crossed his arms. “Nothing is certain these days, true, but that is not to say that all hope has been lost. The temple at Pikhal still stands, though its power has greatly waned. And then there is the Easter order of shadow warriors which I helped to found during the last war, some six hundred years ago. We will have to trust in the serendipity of receiving aid from these and other sources as we face the tides of demonic influence and human corruption ahead of us.” A loud, deliberate cough sounded from within the mouth of the city. Half-beard and Blade wheeled towards the sound, readying their weapons. Edge emerged from behind the entangled city walls, his bandages singed but otherwise seeming to be in prime condition. His cloak was carried in a bundle at his side. “Well, what do you know?” the mercenary muttered. “Fate has conspired to bring us three mercenaries together once more.” Half-beard growled and prepared to attack, but stopped as Blade turned back to him, shaking his head. They turned back to Edge. “Pray tell how long you have spied upon us?” Blade asked. Edge shrugged. “Long enough to be sure that you aren’t Serling,” he replied matter-of-factly. “He couldn’t stand to tell a crazy-ass story like that without throwing in a twist ending. I heard a bit about the crystals I’m looking for being a byproduct of some kind of ancient demon-god, as well…” “Aye… all of it true, I assure you,” Blade replied. “Does knowing the besmirched face of the siren whose cry you chase alter at all your misguided venery?” The bounty hunter paused to puzzle through the meaning behind Blade’s overwrought language. “Uh… yeah, sure,” was his guess of a reply. “Look, I had no idea what the Animadversionite was, and I sure as hell didn’t know it would send my on this insane quest I’ve been on. All I really want is to kill this voice in my head that’s been forcing me to hunt it down.” Suddenly he raised his cloak behind his shoulder. “Hey Casey, catch,” said Edge, just before he tossed the bundle in his old partner’s direction. He did so, noticing a surprising weight as the cloaked dropped into his arms. Beneath the folds of the desert garment were the weapons he had discarded in battle an hour or so prior. “Thanks,” Half-beard muttered as he placed the weapons in his appropriate sheath and handed the small sword he had been using back in the hands of Blade. “We’re hardly in the position to refuse aid,” Blade replied. “I suppose you may join us on our journey.” Edge clapped his hands together. “Perfect!” he said with a wide grin. “You guys said you were waiting for lady luck to hand you some comrades, and the old girl has delivered. Now what’s say we go out and stop the, uh… what did you call him again?” --- “Animator of Chaos!” cried the ghoul with the glowing skull as he knelt before the entrance to the Temple of Hiskor, now resurrected from its ancient burial. “Your loyal servants from the ranks of the dead have brought you a suitable vessel…“ For a few moments the dead, abandoned ruins were silent, but at once this silence was engulfed by a great rumbling noise that shook the earth below. It was a voice. “WHO SPEAKS?” it demanded. The undead minion spread his arms wide and answered. “O great Animator! It is I, James Hunter, the explorer who uncovered your power in the year 1434, by Western reckoning. I was slain upon recovering your power by the shades of the dead what rose to attack me, leaving my fleet-footed comrade to command your magics and form an empire of his own… but I, I pieced myself together in hell so that I might serve you, o powerful and wise god of –“ A roar of disgust sent the undead sycophant careening away from the Temple gates. “I CARE NOT FOR YOUR HUMANITY,” rushed a voice with the strength of a thousand thunder claps. “YOU ARE THE FALLEN COMRADE OF THE DETHRONED SIR RED, WHO SUBSISTED IN THE REALM OF DEATH BY A WEAK LINK TO MY POWER. YOU ARE THE BIOTEN, A MERE BYPRODUCT OF MY BEING.” Bioten floated back up the stairs to the threshold, bowing with his upper body. “O-of course! I discarded my human life with my weak flesh, centuries ago. I merely meant for you to identify me through… but it is of no significance. My master, we saved for you an un-maimed body from our last raid, so that you might use it as a vessel for your worldly presence!” The booming god-voice merely growled with indeterminate purpose for a time. “BRING FORTH THIS PRIZE,” it said at last. Recognizing his cue, the spectacled imp at Bioten’s back stomped slowly up the stairs. He held a cap-wearing man in his enormous clawed grip. “Lo’al, fahagatse,” it dumbly stated. The man, in the meantime, was providing a running commentary to the proceedings. “I mean, who decided to put glasses on the big demon carrying me around?” he murmured. “Oh wait, don’t answer that, let me guess. Whoever’s running this show wanted to subvert the audience’s expectations for demon characters to get a cheap laugh. Why do they think this kind of absurd alternate reality game or whatever it’s trying to be needs comic relief? Whoever built these elaborate destructive holographs or animatronics or genetic mutants is clearly a retard of some kind. Yeah, probably just a whole bunch of retarded scientists.” “EXCELLENT WORK, BUP,” came the earth-shaking voice. “WHAT NAME DO YOU GO BY, MORTAL?” Bup flung his captive before the shadowy entrance, where he stood and brushed himself off. “Oh great, the evil god cliché… figures they’d cram some kind of weak anti-religious message into a second-rate production like this,” he began. “Whatever, I’ll play along. Listen, Cthulhu, I’m the great artist Matt Wilson, and if the art world wasn’t so completely devoid of taste you’d have heard of me already. I was here in Tuzosia to do sketches of some of the ancient architecture, all of which has turned out to suck by the way, and now I’ve been wrapped up in some kind of stupid computer-generated April Fool’s day prank. So if you’d just kill yourselves and let me go, I’ll be on my way.” Matt turned to walk away, but was knocked to the ground by the mighty voice in the Temple. “I FEEL A GREAT DEAL OF HATRED IN THIS MORTAL… HE SHALL BE PERFECT FOR MY NEEDS,” it said with delight. Dark ethereal tendrils launched forth from the Temple, binding the exceedingly negative artist’s limbs. “Oh, and now you’re springing the tentacle rape gag on me,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “Please, anime is for fourteen-year-old girls and pedophiles and so are anime parodies, you should –“ but his monologue was cut off as a tendril penetrated his mouth. Tiny sparks of green light began shooting into Matt’s body. Bup and Bioten were so fixated upon the transformation taking place that they barely noticed when the Ice Sentinel burst onto the Temple grounds. “I must speak with the master,” it cried breathlessly, in a high voice from behind its mask. “Look no further,” Matt Wilson said with a grin as the dark tendrils evaporated, placing him firmly upon the ground. His eyes burned with a bright green fire. The Sentinel took a step back, clearly surprised to see its master in a human form, then dropped to its knees and bowed. “Oh Animator of Chaos, the ghost of the sword has risen yet again. He and the mortals who awoke us may constitute the beginnings of a threat.” The avatar of the dark god only laughed. “You do not know the length of my sight, Priest of the Moose. The forces amassing within my borders are but a cloud of gnats, without a guiding path and meaningless before the power we managed to gather in the time since the gate’s opening.” ”But… are we to do nothing then, master?” Bioten asked. “Fan out across the lands,” the avatar whispered. “Continue to seek out all life, especially that which bends itself towards me and the power I shelter here. And when you find it… show no mercy. We need not be afraid, for they shall destroy each other only to deliver themselves to you. For the triumph of hatred is at hand!” --- The campsite had been consumed by the darkness of night. It was late at night, long after the wind had devoured the campfire Half-beard’s party had created was extinguished. The pirate struggled in his sleep with shades of the struggles to come. A rustle behind Half-beard’s head ejected him from his nightmares. There was no light in the campsite, and yet he somehow he could still see the yellow eyes of a man leaning above him. “How lightly does our companion sleep?” Blade whispered. “He’s either a damn heavy sleeper or a damn good actor,” the pirate yawned. “Has been as long as I’ve worked with him. Weird that Serling never noticed that in all these years... assuming you do know everything Rod does, I mean.” “I am not willing to accept my host’s opinion alone,” Blade replied. He leaned back against a nearby boulder and sighed. “Do you trust Edge?” he asked. “About as far as I can throw him,” Half-beard growled. “Don’t get me wrong, we had some great times together back in the day, but… you didn’t see ‘im yesterday. He’s a man possessed, and I don’t buy for a minute that knowing all of what you were saying caused him to have a change o’ heart. Dude sounds like an addict trying to lie his way through rehab.” “You think he’s just using us to get to the Animadversionite more easily,” Blade said, running a hand through his hair thoughtfully. “Then we must confront him eventually.” “That’s always been unavoidable,” said the mercenary. “But as we’re going to need all the help we can get to make it through the fights ahead of us, I say we hold off on that until as late in the game as possible.” “I couldn’t agree more,” Blade said with a nod. They were silent for a moment, and then the caped knight stood and turned towards the pirate again. “There’s something else I want to discuss with you.” Blade extended a hand towards the pirate. He unfolded it to reveal a tiny crystal… a crystal which shone through the dark with a green light all its own. Half-beard jumped back from where he was lying. “What the fuck are you doing?!” he whispered through his teeth. “Why the fuck do you even have that?” “I stole a fragment of the Animadversionite as I climbed from the ruins of Hiskor,” said Blade, who did not retract his hand. “It’s a miniscule dose of the compound, just enough to let you accomplish some extra feats of strength if you get into a difficult spot. It isn’t nearly enough to affect a human body in any lasting way…” “But it’s, like… evil god magic, right?” the pirate spat, desperately trying to control his volume. “Remember all that bullshit you were telling me earlier about how this stuff was going to cause the apocalypse?” “Disturbing it in the first place was what triggered the unfortunate events we face,” said Blade. “And allowing the power to overwhelm you will drive you mad with lust for more.” He spread his arms wide. “Soon shards like this will begin emerging from the earth itself… each marking the spot where a warrior like ourselves and the foes ahead of us succeeded or perished in past wars. It is a power with terrible origins, but it is a power, and one our foes will have no reservation against using.” Half-beard glared at the crystal for a few moments more, then grasped it, swiftly placing it into one of his pockets. “Guess it won’t hurt to be ready for everything,” Half-beard muttered. “Precisely,” Blade said with a nod, “for everything is what we find ourselves up against.” Next Chapter